


No Sleep.

by ThingsGetBetter



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThingsGetBetter/pseuds/ThingsGetBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is unusual at this time of night for you to be awake. It’s even more unusual for her to be asleep. But as the moonlight languidly spills across the windowsill onto the mattress and bathes her sleeping body in a sliver caress; you are glad this is the case... </p>
<p>This is a heavily implied relationship between two women- if this offends you in anyway, I suggest not clicking further.</p>
<p>- Thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sleep.

_It is unusual at this time of night for you to be awake. It’s even more unusual for her to be asleep. But as the moonlight languidly spills across the windowsill onto the mattress and bathes her sleeping body in a sliver caress; you are glad this is the case._

 

Her naked pale form glows and your mesmerized fingers reach out to stroke silken skin, tracing over the sharp edges of one shoulder blade, across her rib cage before coming back up to affectionately brush the platinum tresses off her slender neck.

 

You still can’t get over how warm she is. Every time you dare to touch her, skin-to-skin, you can’t help but savor her lingering humanity as the pads of your fingers hungrily drink in the heated skin, the familiar outline of tendons and muscle underneath. Even now you press your fingers just under her jaw and close your eyes to further savor the steady thrum of her heartbeat- it has an irregular stutter every so often- a benign defect she’s had since birth. You know the beat so well it echoes in your lonely dreams.

 

Perhaps this is why you still let her come here; why you leave the latch undone and wordlessly pull back the covers when she pads into your room. Though out of that imposing armor of graceful arcs and sharp edges she looks so terribly vulnerable: long hair disheveled and hanging over one shoulder as she nervously tugs on the bottom of her shirt, never approaching until you allow her to do so. Maybe it doesn’t help that when she nestles in beside you, she still smells the same, like the early winter air before a first snow with a hint of fresh parchment and night blooming flowers.

 

Or maybe it’s the way her fingers tremble as she fumbles to undo the buttons on your nightgown, how she bites her lip in concentration and anxiety just how she always has when she undresses you. How the flush of her cheeks bleeds down to her chest and you can’t help but find it so utterly endearing that her nakedness still embarrasses her after all this time. Of course there are changes too, scars a little deeper, her lines a little sharper, edges less soft from fewer days spent reading and more days lifting that wicked curved blade as she moves in a murderous dance on the battlefield. Still it is undeniably her as your bodies melt together, tangling in the sheets with a sigh of relief.

 

She still moans the same as you kiss down to her chest, taking a hardened peak in your mouth, legs tangling with yours and deliciously grinding against your heated core. Her sharp intakes of breath and stifled cries still go perfectly with the unchanging taste of her as you bury your face into her delicious scent and lap up her very essence like a thirsty hound. You raise your body over hers and claim her lips once again to offer her a taste only to openly groan into her mouth as her fingers seek out velvet wetness in return.

 

Eventually you end up on your back, strong thighs around her neck in a grip you momentarily worry might hurt her, but you remember she’s now a champion too and she doesn’t seem to mind as her torturous tongue continues its delicious rhythm. Fingers twist in the sheets, your mouth is open in a silent scream as your body bucks and thrashes against her grip.

 

You hate this. You’re a resilient tank, your body hardened from a lifetime of training and harsh living. You’re Rakkor, The Chosen, and a resolute and unmoving protector. Still you are on your back, mewling pathetically as this heretic, your _enemy_ worships your body in a way that no Solari ever could and you almost envy the moon in having a lone soldier so passionate to stand by her. You hate this, _you love this._ You hate her. Oh god, you love her, you love her, you…

 

…shudder in climax with a loud cry, neighbors be damned, and suck in heavy gasps, sweat trickling down your temple into your tangled hair. Unable to think anymore you roll over and pull the silver-lit goddess into your arms. She smells more like you now and her body is sticky with the mix of her sweat and yours, but you cannot even comprehend pulling away. You whisper reverent prayers against her neck, speech slurred and eyes half closed as you slowly come down from your mind numbing high. She hums affectingly back and kisses away the tears from your face; you didn’t realize you had been crying.

 

Neither of you speak much after, but with Diana actions have always replaced words. Words are associated with arguments; politics… they are not welcome here.

 

Now you are awake and she is asleep.

 

Still stroking a bare shoulder you lean in and nuzzle her hair, basking in the heady essence as you drop soft, open-mouthed kisses behind her ear and down her neck. Your nerve endings spark with the crackle of celestial magic as her body responds to the source of her power alighting it with silver magic. In the depths of her unconsciousness she moans softly in response to her pale mistress in the sky but doesn’t stir from her sleep. The moon is lowering now, you note, and in too few hours the first rays of sun will burst from the horizon to eagerly reclaim the sky and with it, these precious moments of truce.

 

You know that when you next wake, she will be gone.

 

But for now you savor this. You savor her scent, her heartbeat, her body and the memories of the past, knowing that she will be back soon, she’ll always be back when the nightmares come for her just like they come for you.

 

You know this because you both share that same damnable dream: the one where you’re sticking a sword through the other’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you kindly for reading my first ever roughly edited spur of inspiration.


End file.
